


When the Wolves Come Circling

by Robin_Fai



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s05e06 Icarus, F/F, F/M, Morse is a woman, Pining, Scene Rewrite, fake housemates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25452439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Fai/pseuds/Robin_Fai
Summary: An alternate version of *that* conversation in the cottage in Icarus except Morse is a woman... and very much in love with Shirley Trewlove.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Shirley Trewlove, George Fancy/Shirley Trewlove
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	When the Wolves Come Circling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fitzrove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/gifts).



> I was trying to work on my longer female Morse fic and this scene just came to me. It wouldn't fit in with that story, or even the characters in it, at all so I decided to make it a one shot.
> 
> This is for my dear Fitzrove - I'm sorry it isn't smutty. It was meant to go that way but you know how my brain is with refusing to write those sorts of scenes.
> 
> (conversation is an almost direct lift from the episode. Well, the second half. Obviously Morse getting their nails done isn't canon.)

Morse leaned back against the sofa, glass of whisky in her hand, the slightly rough texture of the worn fabric rubbing against the skin of her neck, a stack of records fanned out on the floor beside her. She would rather have been listening to any one of them than the lilting jazz that spilled from the wireless. It was getting late though, too late for respectable young teachers to be blasting opera in their terraced cottage. The neighbours would certainly have something to say about it. She longed for a resolution to the case, for a return to the relative comfort of her own home. Still it could have been worse, it could have been some of that awful pop music, and the company wasn’t so bad. 

Next to her, Trewlove was painting her toenails a vivid shade of red. Morse tilted her head to watch the process, fascinated. She had never painted her nails. Gwen hadn’t approved when she was young. Now that she was free of all that she never felt all that inclined. Mostly her nails were lucky if they were kept in good shape. They were the longest they had been in years thanks to their current undercover roles. Teaching was less hard on the hands than police work and there were certain expected standards of presentation. There were on the force too of course, but Morse somehow got around them most of the time. She was fairly sure Thursday and Bright regularly forgot she was even a woman.

Trewlove caught her watching and smiled. Morse didn’t process what she was saying at first because that smile… She was pretty sure she had never met anyone quite as beautiful as Shirley Trewlove. 

“Morse?” Trewlove nudged her shoulder. “Earth calling, Morse, can you hear me?”

“Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“I was asking if you wanted me to do yours?” Trewlove indulged her with yet another of those wonderfully warm smiles. 

Morse’s train of thought once more drifted away. It was one thing to work with this angel of a woman, it was another to be holed up in a small cottage pretending to be housemates. Trewlove looked good in a uniform, she was one of the few that made it almost look dressy, but to see her relaxed like this, hair falling over her shoulder in a golden wave onto her pale yellow jumper. Morse wanted to run her hands over the soft fabric, through those bright locks. She cleared her throat awkwardly, hoping none of her feelings were showing in her face. She was fairly sure she was blushing now.

“I… I’m not really a nail polish person.” Morse stuttered.

“Oh, come on, I’ve got the perfect shade of blue for you.” Trewlove pulled a small bottle from the case beside her. The colour encapsulated inside reminded Morse of cornflowers. Could it really harm? She gave a brief nod of agreement. Trewlove patted the seat beside her. “Up. Get those socks off.”

Morse complied with her order, feeling strangely self conscious as Trewlove pulled her feet into her lap. There was something unnervingly intimate about those cool hands on her warm skin, the smooth precision of the colour being applied. Morse tried to think about anything other than her touch. Without consciously thinking about it she closed her eyes and began trying to untangle the threads of the case.

“They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes, do you think that’s true?” Trewlove suddenly spoke, startling Morse out of her reverie.

“That’s a pretty grim topic for somebody painting toenails.” Morse said, fidgeting awkwardly.

“What are us girls supposed to talk about then, Morse?” Trewlove asked. “Ponies? Kittens?” She paused and then added pointedly, “boys?”

Morse did _not_ want to talk about boys. The idea of Trewlove and Fancy as an item made her feel queasy. She licked her lips and said, “saw your boy this afternoon.” Morse wasn’t sure if she was trying to deflect the attention from herself, or if she was just digging for a reaction.

“Oh lord…” Trewlove pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. “I told him not to get too serious.” She set the brush back in the bottle and rubbed at the back of her neck. 

Morse tried not to let too much hope fill her at Trewlove's reaction. She fixed her stare upon her now vibrant blue toenails, risking only the smallest of glances at Trewlove. “I thought you liked him.” Now she really was fishing, for all the good it would do.

“With the station closing down I’ve put in for a transfer. To the Yard.”

Morse tried to keep the shock from her face. Of course she had known they would all be going their separate directions, but to lose Trewlove… to lose Shirley… and to London of all places. Quickly she asked the obvious question to cover her reaction. “Have you told him?” She could already tell the answer of course.

Trewlove shrugged and shook her head slightly. “It won’t change anything. We’ll still be able to see each other.” Then she looked at Morse with that intensity that she loved. Damn, when had love crept into this? Trewlove continued. “But we’re young. We have to put career first now haven’t we?” She spoke assertively, with the impression of confidence, but Morse could hear the uncertainty, the real question beneath the statement.

“Well, career won’t hold you at three in the morning when the wolves come circling.” Morse replied without thinking. Her eyes darted away, suddenly conscious of how revealing that statement had been.

“Do they come circling, Morse?” Trewlove asked. And there it was again. That intimacy, that intense focus, that depth to her voice as she asked her questions that reached to the very depths of her soul.

Morse shrugged and gave an awkward breathy laugh. What she wouldn’t give to be so at home in her own skin as the woman sat before her. “I think I should get to bed.” Morse downed the remainder of her whisky and pulled her legs away and set her feet upon the carpet. Her skin was still singing from the feel of Trewlove's hands.

Trewlove turned back to the bottles on the arm of the sofa, tightening the caps and setting them back in their case. Her smile was content, easy. Morse wanted to press her lips to Shirley’s, to feel their warmth blossom against the cold that now filled her.

Morse gave another half laugh, more sigh than mirth, and spoke to her feet. “If I found someone…” She risked a look up and found Trewlove once more staring at her in that way that made her feel so lost. She managed to hold that gaze. Just this once she would take a risk, she would lay herself bare before someone, expose the heart of it all. “...then all of this wouldn’t matter at all.” She said. 

And it was true - none of it mattered. Shirley was everything to her. 

Yet she was also nothing at all. 

She was a colleague, a friend even, and she held Morse’s heart in the palm of her hand for just one brief, tender, moment before Morse would whisk it away again, back to the safety of loneliness. After all, a heart cannot truly be broken if it is never really given.

**Author's Note:**

> Shirley totally gets the hint and Morse has a gooood night. 
> 
> I wish I could write it for you my dears but I embarrass myself with even the hint of smut. Maybe one day my hands will agree to type what my brain has come up with and this will get a second chapter. Maybe. Probably not. Don't hold out much hope. But maybe.


End file.
